


Weekend

by Rivalshipping_Archive (rivalshipping)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Car Sex, Established Relationship, Hot Rods, Kissing, M/M, Nerd!John, greaser!Sherlock, handjobs, not that way lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 22:58:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivalshipping/pseuds/Rivalshipping_Archive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To cheer up Buddens!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weekend

**Author's Note:**

> very first greaserlock
> 
> yay im excite
> 
> based on http://sarahstarseed.tumblr.com/post/47402193620/i-commissioned-the-very-talented-inchells-to

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” John hissed, pushing his glasses up higher on his nose. It wasn’t even as if he and Sherlock were out on the east side of town in the middle of the night as usual—Sherlock insisted on driving his ostentatious mint green Chevrolet to pick John up from university for the weekend. It was broad daylight, anyone could walk into the parking lot in the back of the main campus and see this… debauchery!

“Lighten up,” Sherlock purred in reply while rubbing his hand up and down the inner seam of John’s trousers and pressing kisses to his neck. “No one’s coming. Not yet, anyway.”

John turned bright red and sputtered a reply, adjusting and readjusting his thick frames until Sherlock just rolled his eyes and pulled them off. “Sherlock,” John tried again. “What if—”

Sherlock’s perfect lips turned up in a smirk and he eased his hand under John’s shirt and sweater. “If you really want to stop, we can go for a drive instead,” he conceded softly. He lowered his head and watched John from under his thick eyelashes, lips twitching.

“I know what you’re doing and I’m letting you do it,” John snapped back in warning. Sherlock stilled until John touched his cheek and leaned over to kiss him. “I don’t want to fight. I missed you.”

Sherlock sighed and leaned back in his seat. “You’re killing me, baby. C’mere.” John, after a cursory glance around, climbed over his own seat and into Sherlock’s, sitting astride his lap. They kissed lazily for minutes that seemed like hours, until Sherlock’s chronic wandering hand led him to the back of John’s trousers. The smaller man jumped and turned redder.

Although John was initially wary of sex with a man, Sherlock warmed it to him with months of courting and soft kisses and long rides on his motorcycle and now John was taking small steps into a sexual relationship. Sherlock, used to a faster-paced life where he dropped prudes and bad news without a second thought, found himself giving John all the space he needed.

Eventually, John lifted his hands from Sherlock’s leather-clad shoulders and fumbled with the fly of his jeans, eager for at least a mutual wank. Sherlock caught his hands in one of his and gently shook his head, capturing John’s lower lip between his teeth. “Today is for you, dolly.” He popped the buttons on John's trousers open with his thumb and forefinger and stroked what he could of John's prick through his pants.

"Oh God," John whimpered, tipping his head back in an effort to get more air. Sherlock was full-on stroking him now, letting him thrust into the tight circle of his hand. John felt vaguely embarrassed about the loud sounds he was making, but the satisfied smile on Sherlock's face more than made up for it. 

All too soon, John felt the muscles in his stomach and thighs clench in anticipation, waves of pleasure already threatening to shake him apart. Sherlock's hand against his back, pushing his shirt up to splay out completely and hold him up, was the only grounding force he had as white hot electricity ripped through him. He pressed his mouth to Sherlock's smooth pale collarbone to muffle his groans; he quieted slowly as the last of his aftershocks settled but still didn't trust himself not to be too loud. In broad daylight. Which he'd most certainly forgotten. 

Sherlock wiped his hand on his shirt, dropping more sweet, lazy kisses onto John's neck. "Don't you feel better, baby? You seemed so stressed this afternoon."

John hummed his reply, every part of his body sated. Sherlock was loathe to move him, but his streaks of cum were a little more than conspicuous and Sherlock wanted to get back to his flat to change his shirt, and maybe get John interested in a second round. 

"Absolutely," John mumbled into his ear, as if reading his thoughts.


End file.
